Candle in the Mist
by Mal3m
Summary: PostROTK. The sons of Elrond come to Edoras to help Rohan's king to defeat a troublesome new enemy. Tormented by his sister's choice, Elladan finds hope in the Lady he meets at the Golden Hall. EomerLothiriel and ElladanLothirieloften onesided
1. Default Chapter

**Title:** Candle in the Mist   
  
**Rating:** PG-13   
  
**Summary:** Post-ROTK. The sons of Elrond come to Edoras to join forces with Rohan's king in defeating a mysterious enemy that has attacked his kingdom. Tormented in body and soul by his sister's choice, Elladan finds hope in the Lady he meets at the Golden Hall. No slash. Involves Eomer/Lothiriel as well as Elladan/Lothiriel (often one-sided or friendship).   
  
**Disclaimer:** I am not, and do not claim to be, at all associated with Tolkien, the author of the brilliant Lord of the Rings, whose characters I am borrowing temporarily.   
  
Big thanks to my awesome beta reader **Tracie**! You were such a great help!  
  
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         The trees trembled and the forest rang with the sickening echoes of battle. Swords clashed, bows twanged and agony-filled screams of death pierced the hearts of friend and foe alike.   
  
         The ambush had taken the small éored by surprise. They had been summoned to the southern borders of the Eastfold on reports of a mischievous band of orcs harassing the outskirting villages, hardly expecting the goblins to put up any real fight. After destroying a small group of orcs found near the site of the latest incident, the Rohirrim had assumed their job to be done. Relaxed and celebratory, they had been shocked to be awoken by the dying scream of a guard they had half- heartedly set out on the edge of their camp. Minutes later every man was up, frantically grabbing for his weapon and defending himself against an unexpected and horrific onslaught.  
  
          Across the field, men of Rohan sparred against grunting orcs and snarling barbarians, desperately calling upon all their hard-won battle skills to overcome somehow the advantage their enemies had gained in the surprise attack.   
  
          Earlier Elladan had easily dispatched with the multitude of enemies who had launched themselves into his area of camp. At the moment, however, he was locked in fierce combat with a startlingly and savagely strong orc who had now occupied him for a good while. Under normal conditions, the experienced warrior likely would have defeated the monster in half that time, but the hours of battle had begun to take their toll. Still, his quick arm and biting dagger continued to thrust from side to side with an uncanny accuracy that both baffled and enraged his weakening opponent. At last, with a flash of silver and a bloody gasp, the creature slid to the ground at Elladan's feet.  
  
          "Augh!" Tearing his short stabbing knife from the dying creature, Elladan stumbled backwards, still reeling after the hard-fought victory. But he could only pause for a moment. He may have defeated one of the monsters, but there was still a steady stream of dark-skinned orcs pouring down from the eastern hills. Mingled with the harsh cries of the goblins were the barbaric war-chants of a tribe of southern men who had evidently agreed to join forces with the orcs in the attack.   
  
          Quickly taking account of the battle as it continued around him, Elladan felt his heart drop at the rapidly increasing number of foes and the relatively few Rohirrim he could see left standing.   
  
        "Elrohir! Elrohir!" He shouted desperately, seeking in vain for the sight of his brother amidst their scattered allies.   
  
          Dawn was breaking by the time Elladan had a moment to breathe and assess the situation. It was all too clear that their only option was to escape with as many of the men as they could. Nearly thirty men had already fallen, though they had taken down scores of orcs with them. Yet while there were hordes of enemies arriving to replace those that had fallen, the men had not had the opportunity to call for help, and their numbers were decreasing alarmingly.   
  
          Finally Elrohir's voice called from somewhere in the battle, "Elladan…We must retreat!"  
  
          Darting through the battle with elven speed, he raced to the sound of the voice, killing any orc that stood in his way, and bringing with him any man he found still fighting. By the time he reached a battle-weary Elrohir, he had gathered a good number of those that were left of the éored.   
  
          Elrohir too was leading a group of exhausted, blood-covered Rohirrim. In the distance, they could see similar groups heading in their direction. When all had arrived, they drew back from the foray, heading southwest to the mountains where they hoped to use the familiar terrain to elude or overpower any orcs who may pursue them.  
  
          They had barely entered the out-thrusting beginnings of the mountain forest when they heard screams of rage erupt behind them. Suddenly realizing that their enemy had fled, the dull-witted orcs spread out across the expanse of the plain, angry and confused at the disappearance. By the time they caught onto the scent, however, the men were deep into the shelter of the trees. The twin sons of Elrond brought up the rear and did all they could to mask their trail.   
  
  
  
  
          Gazing out over the plain below her, she sighed contentedly. A breeze blew over the long grasses of Rohan. Waving and rolling, they glistened in the newly risen sun. Hundreds of miles away from her homeland, she smiled. 'The same sun rises here as it does by the Sea. I wonder if Father is awake?'  
  
          Suddenly she gasped. Startled, her smile slowly grew broader as she recognized the bare arms that enveloped her from behind.   
  
          "Hmm," he whispered, nuzzling her neck gently. "I wondered where you had gone. A man doesn't like waking up to an empty bed, you know."  
  
          She laughed softly, lifting her hand back to caress his cheek, her fingers running across his morning stubble. "Isn't it beautiful?"  
  
         He lifted his head to follow her gaze, quietly surveying his kingdom. Taking a step forward, he turned so that they were standing side by side. He took her hand and kissed it softly. "You are far more courageous than I, beloved." He sighed. "I could never leave this. I do not think I could survive for long if I had to dwell elsewhere. Yet you chose to give up the land of your birth to come to me. It is truly one of the greatest gifts a person can give."  
  
         "I love you, Éomer," she replied, her voice clear and her eyes earnestly probing his own, "If you asked me to move to the Far North or to go over the Sea or to dwell in Mordor itself, I would do it, if you were with me."   
  
         Overwhelmed with love, and unable to respond for fear of losing himself to tears, he simply bent down and captured her mouth in a sweet kiss, effectively conveying to her all that was in his heart.   
  
         Abandoning the world around them, they drew closer to each other, and their embrace deepened.   
  
         Footsteps echoed through the hall leading to the balcony. The young man coughed awkwardly, "Excuse me, my lord Éomer."   
  
         He sighed and reluctantly drew away from his wife. A soft blush graced her cheeks and she lowered her eyes as she realized what the messenger had witnessed.   
  
         Embarrassed, the boy continued hurriedly, "I'm very sorry, Queen Lothiriel, but there is urgent news for the King."  
  
         "That is quite all right, Master Formeld, tell my lord I will be waiting for him." And with one last longing glance at her husband, she exited the balcony and turned towards her room.  
  
         Raking his hand through his unkempt hair, Eomer groaned inwardly. 'This had better be good,' he thought grimly.  
  
         "Yes, Formeld?"  
  
         "A small group of the men from Dernwine's eored have arrived at Edoras. They are anxious to speak with you."  
  
         "Dernwine's? I expected him back days ago. How many are here?"  
  
         "Only twelve, my lord."  
  
         Éomer felt his heart sink. "Twelve? I'm sure no less that one hundred and fifty riders set out with him. Is Dernwine here himself?"  
  
         "No. One of his captains has led them back."  
  
         "Bring them to me."   
  
  
         By the time Éomer reached the throne room, the men had already assembled in front of the raised platform his chair sat on.  
  
         Scanning the group, his brows furrowed. "I count five before me, yet I was informed that you returned with no less than a dozen men."  
  
         One man stepped forward, largely-built and a good deal older than Éomer. "My king, I am Breca, second to Dernwine, who was leader of my eored. Indeed, there were twelve men with me when we entered your halls, but seven are presently in the care of healers, for they are badly wounded."  
  
         "How is it that only twelve return from battle? Have the rest of your men been detained elsewhere?"  
  
         "It was an ambush, my lord! When we destroyed a small pocket of orcs that were traveling north on the Road from the Firien, we set up camp and were preparing to return to Edoras. But in the middle of the night, hundreds of orcs and wild-men attacked us from the hills. We were taken utterly by surprise."  
  
         Éomer's hands gripped the sides of his throne, angry and frustrated. Every time he began to think that Rohan was safe once and for all, something inevitably occurred to prove him wrong. "How is that possible? Did you not have guards? Were you not prepared?"  
  
         "They killed our guards, my lord, before we could be warned. That night, we, well, we indulged in our ale rations rather generously. Perhaps we were not as alert to the signs we should have picked up on. The horses were rather skittish when we put them out for the night..." His voice trailed off guiltily, clearly ashamed at their behavior and its consequences.  
  
         "And you are the only survivors of this skirmish?"  
  
         "No, my lord! No, I pray not. Dernwine sent me off with several of the injured men who could no longer fight so that we would get back to the city as soon as possible. Our men were still engaged in battle when we left five days ago, but I am sure it is well over by now. I can only hope the rest are on their way back as well."  
  
         Éomer paused his questioning for the moment, considering what he had heard. Then he asked, "There were no other men besides your riders, then? No help from neighboring villages?"  
  
         "No, no, there was no time to send for any. It was only us-" He hesitated, then began again.  
  
         "Actually, King Éomer, there were two other riders with us, though they were not Rohirrim. This might sound strange, my lord, but I believe they were, well, I believe they were elves, or at least the appeared as such."  
  
         Éomer cocked his eyebrow, his lips quirked in an almost-smile. "Surely not, Master Breca. For those fair folk have left this land and forsaken these shores, all save Gondor's Queen, of course, and Legolas and the others of Ithilien. Perhaps you were mistaken? Could they have been from Gondor?"  
  
         "No, no, my king. I give you my word, they moved like shadows and the tips of their ears were in points. If those aren't elves, I don't know what are. They joined us on our trip southward, just appeared out of the trees, like magic. None of the men with me knew anything of them or their origins, but when they approached Dernwine and spoke with him, he allowed them to continue on with us. We were instructed not to ask any questions or to disturb them. They kept to themselves generally. Perhaps we would have learned more had we been given the time. The last time I saw those two, they were fighting bravely, fatally striking any orc who dared approach them."  
  
         Éomer shook his head in disbelief. If Breca was lying to him...But then, why would he? And if he spoke the truth, then the two mysterious figures he spoke of must have been elves. But how?  
  
         Puzzled, he leant forward and searched his mind for answers, his head resting in his hands. He knew the elves of Lorien had departed, as well as the elves from the realm of Mirkwood. And hadn't Aragorn told him that those of Elrond's House had left as well?   
  
         Elrond's house. Realization struck Éomer like a flash of lightning across the plain. Elladan and Elrohir. The two sons of Elrond had indeed remained to keep their father's residence in place for a little while longer. Arwen had shared as much with him on his latest visit to Minas Tirith.  
  
         Surely these must be the two Breca had seen. "These figures you speak of, were they tall? Tall and dark-haired, with grey cloaks clasped about them? And were they similar in face?"  
  
         Breca looked confused, and gazed up at his king in wonder. "Yes, Éomer-king. Yes, they indeed were as you have only just described them. I do not believe any of our riders could have told them apart, but we assumed that all elves resembled each other in such a way. Do you know them?"  
  
         "Aye, indeed, I am indeed familiar with the sons of Elrond Peredhil." He noticed Breca start at the name, but continued. "For they fought beside me nobly on Pelennor and before the Black Gate. Though I have not spoken to them at any great length, I know they are renowned for their prowess and skill on the battlefield. According to King Elessar, they fought with my ancestors, helping to defend our people before Eorl himself had ridden, for they are of elven kin. The King is well beloved by them, since he grew up in their House, and, as you know, has married their sister, the Queen Undomiel."   
  
         Breca and his men stood stunned, shocked that they had ridden with such noble company without realizing it.   
  
         Éomer spoke again. "Glad I am that they have come to the Mark and honored shall I be if they return to these halls. May the Valar protect them and the rest of the eored, and bring them safely back to Edoras."  
  
         He then summoned his attendants to show Breca and his men to their quarters, and promptly sent another man to check on their comrades in the House of Healing. One of the men had had to have a portion of his leg removed after it was sliced open by an orc blade laced with a cruel poison. While he remained in dangerous condition, the others had been tended to faithfully and were on their way to recovery, some progressing more slowly than others. Éomer only prayed that the rest of his riders would not fare worse when they returned.   
  
  
  
  
         Slashing fiercely at the treacherous overgrowth that blocked the mountain path, Elladan plunged forward once again. For four days they had been traveling, and each man yearned for sight of the Golden Hall, praying that they would catch a glimpse of its towering hill every time they peered through openings in the dense forest.  
  
         After leaving the battle, they had followed the Firien Wood south to the base of the Ered Nimrais. From there, the men continued along a course that wound gradually northwest through the foothills of the mountains. The going was much slower than it would have been along the West Road, but they knew the danger of traveling across the open plain after such an attack. As it was, they had barely escaped the enemies that had attempted to pursue them in their flight. Thanks to the skills of the two brothers, they managed to elude the trackers, but only by a margin too close for much comfort. Exhausted from the battle and their escape, the Rohirrim had collapsed wearily at the first available clearing, being sure to leave men awake who would keep watch in shifts. So tired had they been, that they had not even inquired as to the identities of the two riders who had helped to ensure their safety.   
  
         When they started again the next day, Elrohir had remained at the rear. The men had managed to recover several of the horses before their retreat, and he helped them to guide the creatures through the narrow mountain pass. He would stroke their manes and whisper soothing words into their ears, always having had a way with the animals. As much as Elladan enjoyed riding, he could never claim that particular skill of Elrohir's. Therefore he had continued ahead on foot, and was now near the front of the group, curious to see which way they were heading and how far they were from their destination.  
  
         Jerking back violently after a vine scraped across his shoulder, he released a stream of elvish curses and continued to mutter beneath his breath over the next several minutes, reaching back to treat his arm awkwardly with a make-shift bandage.  
  
         The young man to his left turned curiously. Elladan had caught the boy staring at him throughout their escape, but up til now he had apparently been too intimidated to address him directly.  
  
         He now began haltingly. "Sir, are you-are you of elf kind? I don't mean to be rude. It's just that, well, we saw your ears and all, and we've been wondering. We thought all the elves were gone from these parts." Suddenly shy again, he ducked his head, suddenly fascinated by the plants along the forest floor.  
  
         Despite his temporary bitter temperament, Elladan smiled at the boy, who couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen years of age. He replied gently, speaking in the Common tongue:  
  
         "Yes, my lad, I am indeed "elf kind". You and your friends were correct in that assumption. My mother was an elf and my father is half-elven, from the line of Tuor and Idril."  
  
         Seeing that he had confused his young friend further, he began again. "Do you know Imladris? Rivendell, as it as known to men?"  
  
         The boy's face brightened. "Aye, my lord, I have heard of it. Well north it is of the Mark, my father told me, near to the land of the Halflings. He says Queen Arwen lived there, and King Elessar as well." Gazing at the older warrior in awe, he asked, "Have you met the Queen?"  
  
         Laughing quietly to himself, Elladan answered, "Yes, my boy, I have indeed. For Rivendell is my dwelling place also. My father and my mother have departed from it, as have most of its folk, to go over the Sea. My brother and I, and another, are its sole inhabitants at the present."  
  
         "Is she as beautiful as the men say?"  
  
         "Arwen?" He smiled slightly at the boy's fixation. "Aye, she is." Elladan felt a familiar pain course through him as he spoke, clutching at his heart and threatening to overpower him. He breathed deeply of the clean forest air, and felt calmer when he continued. "Gondor is indeed fortunate to have such a Lady, as is its king. She will help to restore the war-torn land and renew the spirits of its people." Anxious to change the subject, he asked, "What is your name, son?"  
  
         "Aldor, my lord, son of Lengor."  
  
         Before Elladan could reply, shouts came from the front of the line.   
  
         "Meduseld! Meduseld! Edoras lies ahead!"  
  
         The message quickly spread down to all the men, and with renewed vigor they stepped over the path at a much faster pace. Within the hour, they had reached the open fields that stretched out before the city.   
  
         Elladan sighed inwardly. He and his brother usually looked to avoid long visits to such halls, disliking to be away from Imladris for long, more content to swoop in at the moment of a battle, fight hard, and then disappear again. But fate had led them here for now, and he wasn't entirely averse to a stay, providing that it wasn't too prolonged. The Hall was quite lovely, and he was indeed eager to see the king, whom he had bonded with in a way only explainable to men who had battled together as fiercely and desperately as they had.   
  
         Politically, he also had a responsibility to speak to Éomer about the unusual nature of their attackers. He knew full well that orcs and men would not unite their forces without a higher purpose, and that surely this would not be their final effort against Rohan.  
  
         A few of the riders leapt onto the horses they had led and set off to alert the king of their homecoming. The rest continued on foot, setting their eyes ahead to the royal city that seemed to beckon to them in their fatigue.   
  
  
  
  
         Éomer was in his stables when he heard the horns announce the return of the eored. Visitors of Rohan often found it odd that he cared for his horse himself, rather than leaving the job to one of his servants or stablehands. Though it was understood that everyone shared the same respect for the horses, most men were still uneasy allowing anyone but themselves tend to their own beast. The animals, too, were often reluctant to be treated by someone other than their master, whom they were naturally the most comfortable around.  
  
         In the midst of combing Firefoot's mane, the joyful sound echoed throughout the city, and Éomer let out a breath he hadn't realized that he had been holding ever since Breca had brought him the disturbing news. Praying that the men were safe, he carefully set away the brush he had been using and brought the horse back into its pen.  
  
         Through the courtyard he dashed, into the building, and onto the front balcony. He could see a large group of townspeople already gathering at the gates to welcome the men. Craning his neck, he was immensely relieved to see a good number of riders approaching the city, though he was concerned that many of them were on foot. Where were all the horses? Éomer quickly pushed the thought aside, however; he was just glad that more than twelve of his men had survived.   
  
         He thought he caught sight of two dark heads amidst the sea of golden braids, but they were soon lost in the crowd. As much as he longed to rush to the front and greet everyone, he remembered his duty as king, and turned away. Returning inside, he began to prepare the hall for what was sure to become a great assembly of men, all anxious to be heard, and all anxious to be fed.   
  
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**Author's note:** Thanks so much for reading so far. I hope to have the next chapter out soon. Please review!


	2. The Feast

         **Title:** Candle in the Mist   
  
         **Rating:** PG-13   
  
         **Summary:** Post-ROTK. The sons of Elrond come to Edoras to join forces with Rohan's king in defeating a mysterious enemy that has attacked his kingdom. Tormented in body and soul by his sister's choice, Elladan finds hope in the Lady he meets at the Golden Hall. No slash. Involves Eomer/Lothiriel as well as Elladan/Lothiriel (often one-sided or friendship).   
  
         **Disclaimer:** I am not, and do not claim to be, at all associated with Tolkien, the author of the brilliant Lord of the Rings, whose characters I am borrowing temporarily.   
  


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         Lothiriel gazed in the mirror searchingly as she adjusted the clasp of her dress. She ran over in her mind the various preparations that were to be made for the banquet her husband was arranging for the returning men. The kitchen had been properly informed, the hall was being made ready. She made a mental note to check on the status of the serving girls, who had the frustrating tendency to get distracted and silly when faced with a room full of appreciative men.   
       

         The heavy bedroom door banged shut behind her, and she turned to find a half-dressed Éomer stalking hurriedly around the room, haphazardly grabbing a dark blue robe from his wardrobe and swinging it over his shoulders.   
        

         She smiled. "Why the rush, darling?"  
         

         He paused from his frantic search for the proper belt and grinned up at Lothiriel as though he had just noticed her presence.   
         

         "I'm sorry, love. The men are pouring into the hall faster than expected. I had counted on family reunions to delay them for a good time while we prepare for the feast, but apparently many of them are not married and managed to head straight here upon arriving."  
          

         The Queen sighed. A crowd of unmarried men. Just what the girls needed. She shook her head wearily. 'Well, let them have their fun. It _is_ a time of celebration, after all.'  
         

         Aloud she addressed Éomer, gazing at his reflection through the mirror. "Do you think this twist is appropriate?" she asked, tugging her dark hair back with a pearl studded comb. "Perhaps I should braid it that pretty way your sister did when she visited." She raised her hand to her head and nervously began to undo the style.  
         

         Éomer grabbed her wrist in time to save the pretty 'do. "Lothiriel, you look beautiful. You always do. I beg you not to trouble yourself so."  
         

         "I know you do." She leaned back, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder, as he brushed a gentle kiss along her ear. "I know I should be more relaxed by now. I just...I just can't help but feel like I stick out like a sore thumb at these affairs. I'm always sure my dress is all wrong for the occasion. Lythia does her best, but perhaps I should hire a Rohirric dressing maid after all? Perhaps that would do better?" Continuing to babble, "Of course, I've known Lythia since I was twelve, but I am a Queen after all. I must make sacrifices-"  
         

         Turning her around abruptly, Éomer halted the stream of words, placing his lips solidly upon her own. Once he was sure she had been properly silenced, he released her, and smiled down in a bemused manner.  
         

         She gazed up at him sheepishly as he began to speak, feigning frustration, "Now Lothiriel, I've told you time and time again not to worry!" His face broke out in a grin, and he wagged his eyebrows mischievously, "You are the most beautiful woman in this city, and every man out there knows it. I promise you: Their stares do not suggest indignation at your supposed poor choice in clothing. They are mesmerized by your beauty just like I was when I first laid eyes on you in Minas Tirith. Our folk are not used to dark hair or eyes, as you well know, and even your voice sounds of Dol Amroth, rather than Rohan." He paused to stroke her cheek adoringly. "Yes, Lothiriel, you are different, but I love you for it, and so does our kingdom."  
  


         Silence reigned in the airy room for a few long moments as each took in solace the other's love, quietly holding each other, drawing strength from the bond that lay between them.   
         

         "Mmm," Lothirirel murmured, her head buried in his strong chest, "What did I do to deserve this?"  
         

         Éomer was about to reply with the same question, but before he could, there was a loud knocking at the door. After whispering one last message of reassurance to his wife, the king left the room to attend to whatever problem had arisen.   
  
  
  
  
         The two brothers made their way through the winding streets of Edoras, keenly aware of the stares and murmurings that followed in their wake. In an effort to maintain some form of anonymity, the two slipped into the stream of men milling around the entrance of the city. Bodies crushed into them from all sides as men called to friends across the crowd, roughly jostling against each other in their excitement.   
         

         Elladan and Elrohir shared a grin at the lively homecoming the riders had made. Returning to Rivendell had never been as chaotic. Even when the elven refuge had overflowed with residents, there had never been such a mad rush at the gates, that the twins had witnessed at least. Usually returning travelers would slip in gradually over a day or two, unnoticed by the general public, but normally recognized by Elrond, and of course their families.   
         

         The two races did seem to share one tradition however: the celebration feast to honor their warriors. The banquet seemed to be on everybody's tongues in the streets of Edoras, and the disorganized crowd seemed in fact to be slowly, but surely making its way toward Meduseld.   
         

         Having no need to mingle, the handsome pair headed swiftly toward their destination, arriving at its doors before many of the riders themselves. Still, a great many of the men had entered the hall, and were already making quite a din, noticeable from outside its walls, even to one lacking the heightened senses of the sons of Elrond. 

            An anxious-looking man approached them and introduced himself as an attendant to the king.  Clearly a tad intimidated, the servant nevertheless led them inside graciously, bidding the twins to make themselves comfortable at a table that stretched across the hall.  Seeming to understand that they were not the average Rohirric rider, he informed the two that the King would be out to see them shortly, and hurried away to tackle his next duty.  

            "Hardly a welcome fit for the sons of Elrond," Elrohir remarked with a wry grin.

            Elladan shot him a knowing smile in return. "Father would not approve." His brother chuckled at this, but afterwards they were quiet for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts and memories. 

            "Elladan! Elrohir!" In an identical motion, the two in question turned toward the source of the voice, a tall, muscular man whose thick blonde hair was tied back into a loose ponytail at the base of his neck.   He was approaching them quickly from their left through one of the hall's side entrances, which presumably led from his own chambers.  

            "My brothers!" He exclaimed, as he clasped them each about the shoulders, a show of affection somewhat disconcerting to the brothers, who normally maintained a rather aloof manner around strangers.  "I welcome you to Meduseld, though I must confess that I am curious as to your doings in this land." He smiled broadly, and added, "But naturally such inquiries will wait until after the celebration.  Please, I pray you, join my company at our table. We would be honored by your presence."

            After they had returned his greetings, Elladan and his brother followed the king to a dais at the center of the hall.  His table was situated such that, while it was adjacent to the rest of his men's tables, it was raised slightly above the rowdy crowd.   Already a few men and their ladies talked together around the table, looking up curiously when the brothers approached them.  Though they stood in respect for their king, their eyes were fixed on the two strange visitors.  Had they caught sight of the ears of the travelers, their curiosity no doubt would have greatly increased, but the brothers had purposefully arranged their dark hair to cover the conspicuous tips, desiring to remain as anonymous as possible, at least for a time.

            The two had discussed the matter as they had made their way to the Hall.  They had decided to request that their identities remain unknown to the general public of Edoras, both preferring to maintain the low profile they had become accustomed to in their latest travels.  Before the War, they had, for the most part, enjoyed the attention paid to them when it was announced that they were the sons of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.  But times had changed.  Adventures in Mirkwood, exploration in Lorien, revelry in Rivendell: all had faded into their past.  Gone were those days of carefree merriment, and their status as Masters of Imladris meant next to nothing among Men, with the possible exception of the citizens of Minas Tirith.  

            Eomer stood beside them and introduced the brothers to the table. "My lords, I present my guests, Elladan and Elrohir, friends of the Rangers of the North.  They have come to Edoras unexpectedly, but I know you will welcome them as I have.  Perhaps Hygmeld here is already acquainted with them, for they rode with him and the rest of Dernwine's company when they faced this new foe.  I trust that later they shall tell us all which they observed in that battle. But now, gentleman, as you well know, is not the time for politics or war-talk.  I believe we have waited long enough," he remarked as he glanced around the crowded hall, "It seems the rest of the eored has finally arrived. I will instruct the kitchen to begin the courses."  He beckoned to a man who had been hovering around them for some time.  Soon the rest of the men found their way to seats and settled in for the feast.

            Surrounded by the carefree and exuberant men, Elladan found himself slowly unwinding, gradually releasing the tight control and rigid solemnity he and his brother seemed to carry naturally in such situations.  He unconsciously brushed his hand over his ears, and adjusted his hair around them, glancing down the table discreetly to see if anyone had noticed.  'Still,' he reminded himself after a moment, 'it isn't imperative that we remain anonymous, merely convenient.'  If, by chance, their identities were revealed, it was doubtful that it would cause a great commotion anyway.  Half the men would most likely be confused at the titles, and it wasn't as though the Rohirrim were unused to people of high stature passing through the Mark.  He knew that Estel frequently visited his friend King Eomer, as did Faramir, his Steward.  No, it was not their status that would concern the men of Rohan, were it known.  It was the twins 'strange quality' that most would remark upon, as Aldor had.  Clearly, it was the general belief that most elves had departed Middle-earth, and two of their kind appearing in Eomer's court would certainly arouse interest.  

            A servant bent over Elladan's shoulder then, gesturing to his cup and refilling it with a generous proportion of the amber drink.  Shaken from his contemplation, Elladan shook his head ruefully at the serious direction his thoughts had taken.  He leaned back, rolling his shoulders down to release any tension that might have remained, and made the firm decision to enjoy himself.  

            A grin tugged at his lips as he looked across the table at Elrohir, who seemed to be having no problem whatsoever fitting in with the rowdy men.  His rich tenor, too often busied with haunting melodies and tragic ballads, now blended with the coarser voices of the Rohirrim for a rousing rendition of a common, and somewhat bawdy, drinking song.  Where Elrohir had learned such a tune was beyond his knowledge, but Elladan wasn't overly surprised, for their travels had led them through many such gatherings of men.  

            The hall hummed with a crescendo of voices, which would occasionally dip back down into a calmer drone when a new course was served, and mouths were too occupied with food to sing or speak. Yet in spite of the outward appearance of contentment, Elladan could sense their underlying unease.  Their nerves were only just calming after the fierce battle and desperate flight.  And interwoven into their temporary relief was the unsettling assurance that the trial had only begun.  They were celebrating, true, but only at their reunion and safe return.  Victory had not been attained, defeat merely escaped. 

         As hopeless as their situation had seemed, Elladan had been relieved to discover later that not as many men had fallen as he had guessed, only a relative handful had in fact been killed.  The riders had repeated the traditional blessings when all had been accounted for, and those lost were laid to rest.  A mourning period had indeed elapsed, but, as was to be expected of a group of seasoned warriors, their grief had not overtaken their senses or overpowered them to the point at which they could not carry on.  Forward they had marched, leaving behind a neat row of covered mounds safely tucked away in a sheltered grove.  The twins had shared a moment of wonder when they realized that several men had risked their own lives to carry out of battle one of their fallen companions so that their bodies were not dishonored.  

         Too often members of his own race do a disservice to men like these, Elladan had thought. Overlooking such valor and selflessness to dwell on the occasional greed and corruption of some was a mistake that had led many elves to look down on men as weak creatures who could only behave cruelly out of their own self-interest.  The race of men held a special place in Elladan's heart, as it did in his brother.  He was not sure if it was the strain of human blood that flowed within him or the frequent interaction he had with mortals or perhaps his special relationship with Estel that had caused him to develop such an attachment; most probably it was the combination of all such things.

         While most outsiders may not have guessed that anything was amiss at the banquet, Elladan's unique perception into the emotions of men showed him the truth.  Together, the loss of several lives and the expectation of further danger from an unknown enemy cast a vague shadow over the festivities.  

         He reached for his cup as he continued to study the people around him, but his hand had only made it halfway when a hush descended suddenly over his table.  Turning his head in confusion, Elladan watched as Eomer leapt to his feet to meet a small group of women approaching.   He found himself following suit as the rest of his dinner companions stood to welcome the new arrivals.  One in particular seemed to hold their attention, a dark haired beauty who stood regally in the midst of her blonde attendants. 

         Eomer took her pale hand in his own, lifted it to his lips and said, "Welcome, my Lady." His eyes twinkled as he directed her to the seat beside him at the head of the table.  Once she was seated, the standing men and women took their seats as well. 

            Elrohir caught his brother's eye, his eyebrow cocked.  Elladan nodded in return.  So this was Eomer's bride, the young daughter of Imrahil.  He vaguely remembered the Prince of Dol Amroth introducing her to the twins at the celebration of Arwen's wedding.  Whether it had been her or another maiden, Elladan could not rightly say, for he had been all too distracted that day.  

         His hand gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening while he fought desperately against the onslaught of images that his previous thought had unleashed...//Arwen smiling, glowing as she ran to embrace her brothers, hindered only by a fatal grasp on her Beren's hand.  The new King of Gondor introducing his wife to his people.  The wild cheers that had erupted.  Only one corner of the palace had been silent at that moment.  It seemed that with every congratulation, every well-wish, their Evenstar was pulled from them, wrenched from their hearts in a veil of joy.  He remembered the strangled gasp that had escaped his brother as the two were joined, how his father's head had bowed, the single tear that had traced a path down the face of his grandmother.  He himself had been silent.  If his face was truly a mirror of his twin's, then he supposed that his eyes betrayed his grief, as Elrohir's had.  A certain teasing sparkle deadened within them// 

            Jerking himself fiercely back to the present, Elladan sensed his brother stare and felt strengthened by his knowing look and the understanding it held.  Each was drawn from their intense connection at the sound of Eomer's voice addressing them.

            "My friends, please, allow me to introduce my Queen, Lothiriel, daughter of Imrahil of Dol Amroth." 

         He addressed his wife.  "My dear, these are the visitors I spoke of who traveled with our eored and generously lent their skill to our men in the battle." He followed up this explanation with a meaningful look, and moments later her eyes widened in understanding.  She gazed up at the brothers in newfound awe, studying them as if to detect any sign of irregularity. Clearly her husband had shared with her their background beforehand, but neither twin was surprised or irritated at such intimacy.  

         She soon recovered her posture, though, smiling demurely and expressing her pleasure at making their acquaintance.  While each of the brothers felt it only proper to stand, to do so seemed awkward with the King and Queen seated, so they refrained and merely nodded in deference.

            Soon the royal couple became absorbed in separate conversations, playing their role as hosts to perfection. To one side, Eomer spoke animatedly to an older looking man, seemingly an elder advisor of some sort, but evidently a close friend as well.  For her part, the Queen enjoyed the company of a young lady seated beside her.  While her companion, a decadently dressed girl with light blonde curls piled atop her head, chattered on, Lothiriel sat calmly, responding now and again with a nod or an "I'm sure." 

            At first Elladan was put off at such behavior, but upon further observation, it became clear that her relative quiet was not a mark of snobbery.  He was well acquainted with conceit, he had witnessed it on many occasions from members of every race.  Lothiriel's eyes were not icy or taunting, she was not indulging the girl, nor was she scorning her.  No, indeed her gaze sparkled with interest and her laugh was as genuine as any Elladan had ever heard.  She seemed to truly enjoy the girl's company; it simply wasn't her style to interject a comment for the sake of speaking alone, or worse, for the pleasure of hearing her own voice.

         Time and time again, his gaze was drawn to her throughout the night. While his brother partook in the merriment, Elladan remained seated, absentmindedly sipping his mead. His face was unreadable, the slight upward turn of his lips suggesting that he was simply enjoying the drunken men's raucous singing. His thoughts, however, refused to leave the fair lady at the head of the table. She seemed to light up the room, as one of the few females in the hall.

         At the moment the queen was laughing quietly at words her husband whispered to her. The elder son of Elrond watched, his eyes fixated on the couple, as Eomer softly brushed her ear, tucking a dark lock of hair behind it and gently running his finger down the side of her neck. She smiled at him, her grey-blue eyes brimming with affection, and as his eyes met hers the two seemed to be speaking through their stare, communicating on a level that even Elladan's keen perception could not decipher.

         It was a marriage of love, then.  Not the political alliance he had once privately labeled the union.  Their actions were familiar to him, though initially he couldn't quite place the feelings they evoked.  A careful study of their figures, however, quickly revealed all he needed to know.  His father had been dark-haired, true, but nonetheless the picture before him was achingly reminiscent of a childhood spent observing Elrond's interaction with his wife.  The Master and Mistress of Rivendell had enjoyed the same quietly intense mutual admiration as the King and Queen of Rohan apparently did.  

            As his fork brushed against his plate, Elladan glanced down in surprise.  His stomach had clearly had more wits about it than his mind.  Without realizing it, he had finished off the hearty meal, as had most of those at his table.  

            Though Eomer's voice was admittedly laced with that pleasant open-ness that only drink could provide, he still spoke authoritatively as he said, "Well, men, I believe serious talk must be delayed until morning.  Those of you involved in the day's conflict will be wanting rest, no doubt, sooner rather than later.  In fact, I believe now is as good as time as ever to bring this night to a close."

            The king's announcement spread through the hall in moments, and slowly the riders raised themselves to their feet and began to trickle out of the hall back to their homes.

            Soon Eomer turned his attention back to his guests.  "Here, friends," he spoke, addressing Elladan and Elrohir first, "Allow me to fetch someone to lead you to your rooms.  Where did that man go?" he trailed off, eyes searching the room for the missing attendant.

            "Eomer, I will show the brothers to their rooms." The Queen's lilting words interrupted, her small hand touching his shoulder.  "I was preparing to leave anyway, and you must stay to speak with Erkenbrand."

            "Mi'lady," Elrohir interjected, "We do not wish to trouble you unnecessarily.  Surely we can find our way alone."

            "I assure you, it is no trouble," she replied, her eyes still trained on Eomer's indecisive face.  Finally he nodded, pecked her cheek lightly, and bid good-night to the twins. 

            She faced them with a smile, dark locks spilling over her bare shoulder.  The deep cerulean of her dress set off the cream of her skin and depth of her eyes.  Eomer's affections seemed to be truly well-placed, if a man were to judge by outward appearance alone, though naturally he must not.  

            "It is not far," she said, swishing past them and beckoning the two to follow.  

            They made their way through the scattered groups of men who still lingered, all of whom rose and bowed their heads as Lothiriel passed.  Occasionally she would turn her head to look at Elladan and Elrohir, only to face frontwards once more if either met her gaze.  The brothers exchanged a bemused glance.  Her shy curiosity was not unusual for a mortal who knew their race.  

            She soon stopped mid-way down the hallway by a thick door of mahogany wood, its rim carven with various figures of both man and horse.  Pointing to it and a similar door directly across the hall, she said, "Here you are.  Everything should be ready for you inside.  May you rest long and well."  Before Elladan could speak, she continued, speaking quickly as though she had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she had only just remembered.  "Your efforts on Rohan's behalf are honorable and well-appreciated.  My husband and I are truly grateful."

            "Mi'lady, believe us when we say that no thanks are needed," Elrohir spoke graciously, yet quite in earnest. "Knowing the population of those foul beasts has diminished since the fall of the Dark Tower is reward in itself.  Anything my brother and I can do to aid in their demise is our pleasure."

            She nodded with proper courtesy, but her eyes darted between the two. Her head tilted in an attempt to discern the hidden emotion she believed she had sensed beneath the words.  Something had flashed in his eyes…but then, perhaps not.  'They are warriors after all,' she reasoned privately, 'Surely passion for battle should not be seen as out of the ordinary.'

            Resolved to leave her guests to their rest without further analysis, Lothiriel bid them good-night and swiftly made her way back down the corridor toward her own chamber.

          "Lovely, eh?" Elrohir said with a twinkle in his eye. "Of course, nothing compared to our maidens, but she has a certain…mortal charm, I suppose."

            He turned slightly when his brother failed to respond.  "Elladan? Naturally, I was merely jesting."

            Elladan's gaze remained fixed to the corner Lothiriel had turned.  "Hmm? Oh, lovely, yes."

            Elrhohir laughed outright. "I think you need some sleep, broth-"

            "Did you notice anything…peculiar about her?" Elladan asked suddenly, oblivious to his brother's comment.

            "Peculiar? What sort of peculiar? She seemed rather normal to me.  Typical lady of Gondor, if I may say so, with all respect.  What has gotten into you?"

            Elladan shook his head. "Nothing, nothing. I think you're right, I do need rest.  I will see you in the morning; for now a nice bed seems rather inviting."

            "Ah, all this association with men over the years has made us soft." Elrohir teased with a slap on the back. "I seem to remember going days without sleep, brother, fooling about in the forests of home.  And never the worse for the wear, either."

            Elladan smiled wearily.  "Well perhaps the years have taken their toll after all. All I know is I cannot stand a moment more of your chatter. For the last time—Good night!"

*********************

            Hello! Thank you for reading so far! I readily accept any feedback you would like to offer, whether it be positive or negative or somewhere in between.  

            **Special note: ** If you noticed a particular number of mistakes in this chapter, the reason is that my multiple attempts at finding a beta reader were sadly in vain.  I am, therefore, in the market for one! If you are able to edit my work in the future, I would greatly appreciate it! Mostly I would be very happy to have someone familiar with book canon to advise me as I go, as well as someone capable of recognizing technical writing errors as well.  If you feel that you could only serve one of these capacities, that is perfectly fine as well.  Thank you so much!


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